


Pygmaleo

by RainonyourBack



Category: Shaman King (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Delusions, Insanity Mention, M/M, Selfcest, Spoilers for KZB, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainonyourBack/pseuds/RainonyourBack
Summary: He was so lonely he split his soul in two. He did not expect his second half to become quite so independent so fast and now he is lonely again.





	Pygmaleo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AyuDev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyuDev/gifts).



He had won, and all he earned was longing.

Not loneliness, that would not be fair. His mother was a thought away, now, and he could feel Matamune growing closer and closer by the day, but he discovered quickly that none of it was enough. Perhaps he had learned to want so well he could no longer exist without it. Like fire, devouring his soul even when it should finally be at peace.

Then again, his triumph had gone nothing like he imagined it.

Telling that the society he designed was a blank one, containing nothing, expressing nothing. He was _shattered_ and the one who had done the shattering was not even here to take responsibility for his deeds.

Odd that he should resent him for that, especially since it was only the other half of him. There was something hidden behind all of this, some underlying truth he needed to understand about himself, but Hao cared not for that. He had ascended to godhood and he no longer needed to understand anything about himself, except that he still _wanted_ and _longed_ and he would have what he wanted, once and for all.

For a time, he refrained. There were other things to busy himself with, other ways to pass the time. He did not need to spend any moment considering the hard round hole in his soul, the place where it ached for something that just was not there. When he ran out, he visited the earth and the shamans on it, though he was careful never to linger. The material world always gave a much more physical aspect to his need, and he hated it. He was past these childish things. He was past the desires of the flesh.

But this wasn’t about flesh, was it?

Yet it was still childish. Still a longing for a soul, _one_ soul, out of billions who were now his. Longing to touch it, lose his hands in it, cradle it and return it to the place it should never have left. But he couldn’t do that; he had promised not to.

He wasn’t used to promises and he really did not feel like keeping that one. But perhaps… just perhaps… he could have both. He could have Yoh living on earth unaware and Yoh with him. Yoh all for him.

There were ways, and he probably could have done it instantly, but it would not have been enough. He did not want a mere copy, a shadow of who Yoh was; he wanted all he could have, all the parts of him that lingered, one way or another, in the Great Spirits.

So, he created a society, a small one, somewhere blank, it did not matter. This one he would keep away from prying eyes. This one no soul would enter without his permission.

And then he started his search. Mindless spirits from all over the expanse of the Great Spirits gathered what they could of Yoh, bits of broken swords, strands of hair lost on the shared pillow, a torn shirt. None of these things were real, of course, but they had been once, somewhere, and it was enough to give them power. He received some of his twin’s blood, some of his sweat, and then the thinner things, the ones that were harder to find and most important: his tranquil pulse, his amazed shrieks, the look of desperate brokenness of the Yoh who told him he did not like humans, either.

When he had all he could take, which was everything, because he was now god and the world was his to tear and mend in his image, the Shaman King went to work. In his lonely society, away from any and all prying eyes, he took the shadow of Yoh and filled him with all he had. Not everything was used the way it was intended to; he had too much to make up for. Instead he bent and twisted and tied everything until it started to look just right, until it was perfect, until it was _Yoh_. Of course, it would need modifications. The real Yoh had not stayed, after all; if he wanted this one to stay he needed to make sure it would want to.

This work had to be done in secret, in the small hours when he managed to move away from his duties. Part of him wished to lock the door, disappear, focus only on this most important work, but dare he did not. The idea of resenting his duties, resenting his victory, was enough to unsettle him, but he did not relent. He worked, like a carpenter making a big dark closet to lose himself in.

Art or insanity, it made no difference to him. It was what he needed, and that was it.

* * *

And then he was done, just like that. Exhaustion made no sense to a soul, and yet he had to leave, to fling himself away from that self-contained society and to another place. He did not want to gaze at it, not yet. Something inside him probably already knew that this way lied madness, that a doll could never replace what was true and real and alive.

But he had never liked being alive, had never found true freedom in the constricting chains of bodies and needs and wants. This was supposed to be freedom, and he would make it so, and no one could or would ever oppose him again.

So, back he went, to that little society that was starting to feel like a bird’s nest, a bird’s hope, a bird’s folly.

He wanted his creation to open its eyes, and so it did.

Hao watched it look around, as if afraid to speak. Perhaps it was. “You are safe,” he said, and he saw the thing’s eyes widen, and they were Yoh’s, just as powerful and telling. Every inch of him was Yoh’s, the Yoh from before the end, the Yoh who was still a bit afraid, not of him, but for everyone else.

“Are you alright?”

That, however, surprised him. For when did anyone think, or dare, to ask such a question? Yoh was certainly the only one who could ever.

“I have been hard at work,” he admitted. “I will be able to rest now.”

Yoh’s eyes softened, and he grinned, and it felt real enough.

“Resting is important. The most important part of the day!”

And that was it. No questioning where they were, or where his friends were. Hao marveled at how finely he had managed to separate what he wanted from the rest, from Yoh-who-went-back, from the Yoh-who-had-friends. This one was just happy to be around him.

“Why do you think you are here?” Hao could not help it; he needed to know. Needed to be sure.

 _Yoh_ lowered his eyes in thought, and focused, and then shrugged. “You wanted me around? And I promised you wouldn’t be lonely anymore.”

And the words were bright and full of promise. That was what he’d worked so hard for, was it not? An end to the loneliness. But it could not be brought by other Shamans, or humans, all so far beneath him. No, he had to be enough for himself, and so he had split his soul. Twins. Halves. One could be lonely; two would keep each other warm.

He had thought so, and now it was real.

Yoh sat up and drew Hao to him. His smile was giddy, and he bit his lip, as if too nervous to really say what he had in mind. “I don’t really care, to be honest. Now I am here, with you.”

“With me,” Hao replied, in a voice that was but a whisper. Pitches and breath had no meaning here, and this society was kept from prying eyes, but it still felt dangerous to say it too loud.

Dangerous?

Who was king here?

“You are mine,” he repeated, louder this time, and then their lips met. Yoh stayed still under him at first, and then he responded. It was chaste at first, only at first, and then Yoh was pressing himself against him, hands reaching, teeth nibbling. Curiosity shone through his every action, and Hao found himself stepping back.

Something was… off. The way Yoh responded to him was not that of a young teenager whose only experience came from fumbling in the dark with his fiancée. He couldn’t quite place it, but he had not just made Yoh; he had added things to him, things that came from deeper inside, things he wasn’t sure were safe to be so close to.

When had he last cared for safe?

He was the fucking Shaman King.

Yet he knew, even as he stepped back into the waiting arms and took what he needed. He knew he had failed. Or had not done well enough, same difference. He had made exactly what he needed, his own desires tempering with Yoh’s essence. This wasn’t Yoh. Would never be.

A choked sob left a mouth, and he realized it was his.

“We won’t be lonely anymore,” the thing said soothingly, with Yoh’s mouth, smiling Yoh’s smile, except it was all empty and dry. No depth there.

Hao contested exactly none of it.

* * *

Yoh started having dreams long before he noticed there was something wrong with them. At first everything seemed peaceful in them. There was a long beach, and he walked it, and the sand was warm on the soles of his feet.

It started a few weeks after the end of the tournament. Life had been great to him. He was happy to rest, to laugh with his friends, to start making plans for their futures. Everyone’s future, now freed by his hands. His and all the rest’s.

So, he did not worry about the dreams, at first. If a ghost was trying to tell him something, it would, and he would deal with it. But for the longest time nothing was said, and he just kept walking.

He wasn’t sure why he walked, or where he was doing that walking, but he walked. His feet burned with exhaustion, and the treacherous sands beneath his feet constantly threatened to swallow him whole, but he could not stop. He did not know the whys of that, either. His throat felt locked up tight, and sometimes he could feel hands stroking his back, petting his head, and it was nice but none of it made sense.

At least nobody noticed. He certainly did not want to worry them about what was certainly nothing. Instead he went on very long training sessions, hoping to exhaust his mind; he went to bed earlier or later; he tried to not sleep.

Whatever he did, he always ended up on the same beach, walking the same walk, with the hands touching him from behind. And after the longest time he heard whispers, started to make sense of them. _Give it to me_ , they said, _give all that you are. He requires all of you. Give it to him._

The stroking hands started to pinch and tug.

He did not dare look back.

* * *

Night and day had no meaning in the bird’s nest, and none on the endless beach Yoh walked in his dreams. The touches had become more precise, more adult, and he was now kind of glad for Anna’s growing belly, because it meant he did not have to touch her while thinking of the phantom hands in the night. They slept in separate rooms, now; he hoped that would be enough to keep her from noticing anything.

Amidamaru had no advice to give, and Yoh really did not want to talk to his brother about odd hands in the dark, and so he said nothing, and he walked the beach. He walked until he could walk no more, until he tripped and fell.

He didn’t hit the sand.

Instead the void swallowed him whole and spit him out elsewhere, in a place that looked grey and small like hands curled around some precious treasure.

And in the middle of it, what he first thought were two Haos. It was hard to tell where one ended and one began, hard to tell what they were doing.

And then one sat up, and he saw that it wasn’t Hao.

In spite of himself he yelped, and alerted both to his presence.

Hao stood, which made no sense because this space was _his_ and it only made sense when he wanted it to, and made for Yoh, and then stopped. Some part of him wanted to throw up a hand in front of him, to raise mountains, to shield him from the debacle, to hide it from him. Hide his ocean of want and his all-too-human desires, lock them up in some dark space where Yoh had no right to be, because he did not want him there. Yoh could not see this. _Yoh could not see this_.

The other Yoh stared at his real twin, as if unable to understand what it was he was seeing.

“We’re already complete,” he said, petulantly. “You lost your chance.”

The real Yoh did not react. He didn’t waste any time looking at himself; instead he gazed at Hao, as if unable to find his right words.

Were there right words in such a situation?

Hao pressed a hand to his face. Both were fake, constructs of the mind, _not real_ , but it still did him good. Still felt like respite from this madness.

“Come here,” he said to the thing. There was no shielding his own intent from something that was so much of himself, and he watched as the creature’s ersatz of a soul went rigid. It wanted nothing more than to run, at this moment.

But it was also himself and he knew there was no more running, so here he came.

“You will be lonely,” the thing promised, baring teeth that Yoh wouldn’t bare, eyes shining with a fury that was never Yoh’s. “You will always be lonely if you do this.”

Hao blinked and contemplated it, the vast expanse of loneliness that would always be his. Perhaps it was simply part of him. Perhaps there was no shaking away the loneliness.

“He won’t,” Yoh said, the real Yoh. Hao glanced his way. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to scream. What did _Yoh_ know? Yoh had his insufferable friends and his fiancée and soon he would have a son, and it wouldn’t just be a matter of breeding and family-establishing like it had been for Hao. It would be something real.

“Forgive me,” the real Yoh added. He was talking to him. “I was really busy, wasn’t I? I should have asked you about the dreams. I should have asked you to come for dinner, like you asked me for coffee.”

Hao blinked.

Was Yoh usually this chatty? Was his will affecting him, too? Perhaps this wasn’t the real Yoh, just another construct of his all-powerful mind. Perhaps…

“Hey, Hao? I’m not mad,” the maybe-real Yoh said. “It’s all going to be okay.”

It wasn’t, but it did sound like the real Yoh would.

“Come here,” Hao said again, to his creation.

“I’m Yoh,” it cried, wrapping his arms around itself. “I’m Yoh, and I love you, and I don’t want you to be lonely!”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Now quiet.”

The unraveling took less time. After all, he was king, and if he wanted something to be no more, he could just make it so. The thing did not have the time or the capacity to scream, to struggle. It just stared at the real Yoh, and melted to light and water, and then less still.

And then it was done.

Hao glanced at Yoh, who was now much closer. Geography here only meant as much as one needed it to. Speech, too, and he understood that Yoh knew. Yoh knew everything, had an all-too-intimate knowledge of the touches and the gazes and the madness of the newly-crowned king.

Yet he said nothing; he simply raised a hand, and touched his brother’s shoulder.

Hao expected no softness and instinctively recoiled.

“Nothing changed,” he said, more abruptly than he wanted to. “You go home, do whatever it is you want to do. Go change the world, and I will determine whether it has changed enough that destroying it would no longer be the right solution.”

Yoh’s face softened. So young still.

“You will not be drawn here anymore,” Hao promised, though he did not sense any such worry. “I should apologize.”

“You’re not one to apologize,” his twin smiled. His hand was still on Hao’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that I took this away.”

“Don’t be.”

He shrugged.

“Okay, I won’t.”

So easy. And still, so different from the thing who moved in time with his desires, because it was molded from them and knew nothing else. Hao wondered if the hurt in his heart was relief or melancholy.

“Good,” he said, to say something. He turned away.

“Hao,” Yoh said, and Hao froze where he stood.

“How about you came to dinner?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was created as part of the SK discord server's Secret Santa exchange! It was quite a challenge for me because it was my first time writing this ship and though I write Hao a lot Yoh is not as familiar to me. I really like what I've managed to do with it and I hope you all like it too!  
> Merry holidays to you all!


End file.
